The Trial
by ebfiddler
Summary: Mal and the crew release some terraforming workers from slavery and give them passage to Persephone. The slaves are free, the heroes get rewarded, and everyone lives happily ever after, right? Except this is Firefly, so here's what happens instead….  Sixth in series.
1. Chapter 1

The Trial, Part 1a

Sixth story in a series that begins with A Lion's Mouth. This story follows Break Out.

Mal and the crew release some terraforming workers from slavery and transport them to Persephone. The slaves are free, the heroes get rewarded, and everyone lives happily ever after, right? Except this is Firefly, so here's what happens instead…

_Mal is sanguine about the kind of reception Serenity will get on Persephone._

_A/N: Rating: All my stories are PG to PG-13 to occasional R. You will not find detailed descriptions of blood, gore, and sex, but you will find situations appropriate for mature readers, innuendo, implication, and (gasp) swear words. This story is entirely PG._

_Thanks to my sister for beta reading. Thanks to all the reviewers, both here and at Fireflyfans. Your input is a part of this story, too._

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><p>As Serenity neared Persephone, Zoe sought out Mal, and found him, as she knew she would, on the bridge, staring into the Black. With forty people aboard, it was the only place on the ship where he could distance himself from the crowd. She knew he was too agitated to take refuge in his bunk, and she knew his strained relationship with Inara made him not welcome in her shuttle at present. She brought the topic on the table directly. "You're worried about the kind of reception we're gonna get on Persephone," she stated.<p>

"Well, actually, I'm sanguine," Mal countered.

Zoe was not fooled. "'Hopeful,' sir? Or 'bloody'?"

Mal shifted in the pilot's seat and sighed. One drawback to the close working relationship he had with Zoe was that he couldn't get away with such ambiguity—she knew what underlay his words. She wouldn't let him off until he had aired the root of his worry. He mulled over his thoughts for a moment, then began.

"When I was lyin' there in the infirmary," —_talkin' to Shepherd Book_—he almost said, then realized how crazy that sounded, and amended, "thinking on things Shepherd Book used to say—anyways, I just got this feeling, things may not go so smooth, this end."

"Like they did on the other end, sir?" Zoe said, drily.

"Still tweaking me on that, Zoe, and rightly so." Mal regretted more than ever that he'd put Zoe—_and her baby—_gah! A baby! on Serenity? (he shoved that thought aside for later consideration)—in harm's way during the slave break-out on 泥球 Ní Qiú. And also on 尘球 Chén Qiú. He had to do better by her. "That's why I want you, Simon, River, and Neumann to go with Inara in her shuttle when she breaks off from us in near orbit."

"Sir, I should stay with Serenity."

"Zoe, there's a risk of this going…not smooth."

"What makes you think so?"

"Can't say, exactly."

"You figure anyone will even notice our arrival, sir? Eavesdown Docks is a busy place."

"I waved the Society to Abolish Human Trafficking on Persephone," Mal told her. "They're sending a representative to meet us, a little reception committee to help the people get to the refugee shelter, and then get on their feet and on their way. We hand 'em off and they won't be our responsibility no more."

"Seems like a reasonable plan, sir. You'll need me to keep all those people organized, moving in the right direction."

She was right. Mal needed her aboard Serenity to keep things organized. He was sending River away, so he'd be landing the ship himself, and having Zoe in the cargo bay would keep things running smooth. Still, since his conversation with Book—his _imagined_ conversation with Book, he corrected himself—he'd revised his assessment of the situation entirely. Getting the slaves off 泥球 Ní Qiú had been the easy part. Blue Sun had the resources to alert authorities on Persephone of an inbound Firefly carrying suspicious cargo, and he was going to have a devil of a time explaining the presence of thirty-two unofficial passengers, all of them without Ident Cards. Even though there was no way he could be accused of "stealing" slaves (not even Blue Sun could be brash enough to claim these people were property to be stolen), he was at the very least setting himself up for an unpleasant encounter with the Immigration Authority.

Which begged the very question of why there were even Immigration Authorities at all. It was just like Shepherd Book had said. There wasn't a good reason for all the tariff barriers and immigration restrictions between worlds, not really. It was all one happy gorram Alliance, weren't it? But Mal had noticed that since the War ended and all the planets had entered into a state of happy gorram Unification, trade and travel between worlds had become more restricted than ever. Sure, a body could travel easily from one world to another to go sight-seeing or visiting friends and relatives, but just try to settle down and get a job there and a whole crop of restrictions sprung up like weeds. Turned out you had to wade through mountains of red tape to apply for residency and work permits, and if you were caught workin' somewhere when you weren't allowed, 天上 帮助 你 tiānshàng bāngzhù nǐ.

There were exemptions for certain kinds of employment. Nurses, teachers, and certified childcare professionals were welcome everywhere. And people with jobs that involved interplanetary travel as a matter of course were exempt from having to seek work permits on every world they visited. Jobs like captaining or crewing a transport vessel, for example. But Mal and his crew were forbidden from seeking permanent employment on most worlds, and barred from settling anywhere but their home world unless they went through the process of applying for residency. Mal didn't have the option of working or living on his home world: Shadow was destroyed. It was one of the reasons Mal had taken to interplanetary transport as his job, after the War. And because of his status as a defeated Browncoat and Shadow exile, Mal was also denied permanent legal residency on any Core world, most Border worlds, and even a few Rim worlds as well. Good thing he liked flyin', 'cause his options for legal employment were few.

In any case, Mal's opinion was that the whole gorram system was designed to make it easier for the established players to control the movement of goods and workers from one world to another. Tariff barriers and restrictions squeezed hard on the smaller businesses that couldn't afford the full-time staff to deal with the paperwork, and ironically made it possible for people like him to make a living as a smuggler. And the Immigration Agencies sprung up to prevent people from going freely to where the jobs were, ensuring that the inequalities between the Core and Rim worlds were maintained. Not that Mal was prejudiced or anything, but the Immigration officers he had encountered could be blunt and brutal in the application of their power. They had a limited area of authority, and the people over whom they had jurisdiction were often the most helpless of all, people desperate for work, with very few options but to stay home in poverty, work illegally, or sell themselves into indenture. Desperation put those people into a position where they were vulnerable and had few legal rights, and the Immigration Authority was known to abuse its position. "I want you to stay safe," Mal said, lamely, to Zoe.

"I'm not a hothouse plant, sir. You're already sending away your pilot. You'll be landing the ship. So who will meet the reception committee? Jayne, your public relations man? He'll suspect an ambush, shoot first, then ask if they're the folks with the bus to the shelter." Mal had to smile at the picture she painted.

Zoe was still puzzled as to the nature of Mal's worries. "Just how dangerous you figure these abolitionists to be? I thought most of them subscribed to non-violence."

Mal was a bit taken by surprise by the turn Zoe's mind had taken, but, as usual, Zoe was right. Many of the Abolitionists were members of a religious organization that held very seriously to the principle of non-violence. Those people were the last ones to get involved with some kind of ambush. What they were doing dealing with a man like him, with his history of violence—. The Shepherd Book in his mind snorted. "_History, my Aunt Fanny! Current events, is more like._" Mal turned to Zoe with a look that held as much, or more, meaning than his words. "Terraforming company on 泥球 Ní Qiú may have tagged our ship as carrying illegal immigrants. I expect we might have a visit from Immigration soon as we hit the dirt." That was enough. Zoe would know what to do.

. . .

Mal knocked at the door to Inara's shuttle. "Inara, may I come in?"

"No."

He entered the shuttle anyway.

"I said no. What are you doing here?"

"I, uh…" Mal began in confusion, then he recalled that he had come on official business and said in his most captain-y voice, "I don't know what kind of reception we'll be getting planetside, and I wanted to advise to you separate early and break atmo independently of Serenity."

"I already planned to do that, to keep my _appointments_, Mal," Inara replied with some acerbity.

To Inara's surprise, Mal completely ignored the barb about her appointments. He clearly had something else on his mind, and he ploughed on. "I need to ask you a favor. You see, our cargo manifest don't exactly state that we've got thirty-two passengers aboard, and if it should happen that we meet up with a port inspector first thing, they'll probably want to detain everybody on board for questioning and that might could cause problems. I don't want to cause Dr Ip no extra grief, so I'm hopin' you'd be so gracious as to give him a lift in your shuttle. This ain't his problem."

"I could do that," Inara responded.

"Would you also take Simon and River?" Mal requested. "Simon's got his notice of rescindment in case of trouble, but it's best if those two just stay out of the way of trouble in the first place."

"Of course." There was an awkward pause. "Are you expecting trouble—" Inara began at the same time that Mal said, "I'm sorry I—"

They both stopped short, and there was another awkward pause while each waited for the other to complete the thought. Neither one did.

"Thanks for your help," Mal finally said, formal and distant. He turned and exited the shuttle.

. . .

Mal found Simon and River in the infirmary. "Doc, I'm sending you and River with Inara in her shuttle. Plan is to separate in near orbit and break atmo separately from Serenity. That way if anything goes wrong—"

"You're expecting something to go wrong?" Simon asked, his suspicions thoroughly aroused.

"A bolt out of the Blue," River said.

"Just ordinary precautions, Doc," Mal said, giving River a look. "If there's a trap, I don't want all of us walkin' into it. Leave our options open. So you two just lay low until you get the all-clear, then rejoin us later at Eavesdown Docks."

"Two lay low, blue steel shackles, waiting to bite you," River said cryptically. "Knight in shining armor caught in the purple sorcerer's net. Two by two, led off to limbo."

"Right. Exactly what I was sayin'," Mal replied, now made thoroughly uneasy by her words. "Now, Doc, I'm sending Neumann along with Inara. It's in his contract that he gets dropped off at Persephone. I just wanna be sure he's clear of this, in case—"

"There you are again," Simon interrupted. "Mal, you're worried about this going wrong, aren't you?"

"Just never tried my hand at human trafficking before, Doc," Mal replied, attempting to make a joke of it.

"Mr Houghton can be trusted," River stated with certainty.

"Is that so, Albatross? You had dealings with the Society to Abolish Human Trafficking before?"

"_Others_ have made waves."

Mal eyed her sharply. He had learned that River's strange remarks often contained critical elements of sense, so he asked, "What kinda waves are you talking about, River? Who's sent a wave?"

"Blue is darkened on blueness, even where Persephone goes—to the sightless realm where darkness is awake upon the dark," River recited with the air one of quoting a poem.

Mal stared a moment. Girl had a thing about "blue" now, didn't she? "Now that is downright creepifying. You tryin' to boost my confidence, Albatross?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Now, Doc, am I gonna be able to count on you not strangling Neumann on the way dirtside?"

"I've worked out my differences with Dr Neumann," Simon answered. "Oh, and, Mal—thanks for the good advice. About Kaylee. About trusting. You should try it yourself."

"Didn't ask for your advice, Doc."

"It's your own advice. I'm just recommending you apply it to yourself as well."

. . .

Mal piloted Serenity into the berth at Eavesdown Docks. Systematically, he went through the shut down sequence, then joined Zoe, Jayne, and Kaylee in the cargo bay, where the excitement of the thirty-two "guests" was palpable. Zoe was doing a great job with crowd control. She'd tipped off Jayne that Mal expected some trouble, and he was prepared, standing alert by the airlock with an extra gun strapped on. Kaylee was spreading sunshine among the passengers. As soon as Mal appeared in the cargo bay, he was surrounded by his "guests," many of them eager to thank him, which made him more than a mite uncomfortable. They were not out of the woods yet. He hadn't seen anything from the bridge to make him suspect an ambush, had seen no evidence of Feds, Immigration Police or Port Control, but he also hadn't seen anything looking like the Abolitionists' reception committee or their transport. He knew that for the ex-slaves, the journey had just begun. The Abolitionists' shelter was just a temporary refuge. They still needed to find work, get back on their feet, and pull their lives together.

Mal lowered the ramp and looked around cautiously, hand near his weapon, ready for trouble. There didn't seem to be any, and that made him worried. Zoe and Jayne stood at the ready in back-up positions, awaiting his signal for the all-clear. Mal didn't see any trouble, but he didn't see Mr Houghton, his contact with the SAHT, or any reception committee. In fact, he didn't see any passers-by at all, and that's when he knew he was humped.

So it was no surprise when he saw the first Fed appear in his peripheral vision off to the right. And the left. And then another, and another. The surprise was that he was soon facing an entire squadron of well-armed, armored Feds, and behind them, even more goons in the uniform of the Immigration Authority. Though his hand had instinctively twitched for his gun at the first sight of a Fed, he knew this was no place for a gun battle and he raised his empty hands in evidence. "他们送我们之后全军 Tāmen song wǒmen zhīhòu quánjūn. How dangerous they think we are?" he muttered under his breath.

"Malcolm Reynolds?" demanded the Fed officer. Mal acknowledged his name. "You are bound by law for trafficking human beings across interplanetary borders, contrary to Union of Allied Planets law."

Mal's jaw dropped. How had Shepherd Book known? No wait, how had _he_ himself known? This was not reasonable; this was his nightmare. He spoke up in his own defense. "I am _not _trafficking slaves, officer. These people are passengers. They are free to go wherever they please."

While Mal, Zoe, Jayne—and Kaylee—oh, 天啊 tiān ā, not Kaylee, too—were surrounded by the Federal officers, the Immigration Officers moved into the cargo bay and herded the passengers against the port bay wall. "_Passengers,_" the Immigration Officer stated with ironic emphasis, "Please present your Ident Cards and papers for inspection and verification."

Of course, not a single one of the people from 泥球 Ní Qiú had an Ident Card to present. The Immigration Officers moved in gleefully, like a pack of wild dogs approaching a fresh kill. As Mal, Zoe, Jayne, and Kaylee were led off in handcuffs by the Feds, Mal heard the Immigration Officer say, "You will all be detained in custody at the Bureau of Immigration until you can present evidence of your identities and business on this planet. You may retain legal counsel…"

. . .

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glossary

泥球 Ní Qiú [name of a world]

尘球 Chén Qiú [name of a world]

天上 帮助 你 tiānshàng bāngzhù nǐ [heaven help you]

他们送我们之后全军 Tāmen song wǒmen zhīhòu quánjūn [Sent the whole army after us]

天啊 tiān ā [god]

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><p><em>AN: Your review inspires me to write and post more!_


	2. Chapter 2

The Trial, Part 1b

_With Mal, Zoe, Jayne, and Kaylee under arrest, the others contemplate their course of action_

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><p>. . .<p>

Inara brought the shuttle in for a graceful landing at the midtown shuttleport. As she prepared to leave the shuttle, she spoke to her passengers. "Ip, I understand you're leaving Serenity at this port of call. I just wanted to let you know it's been a pleasure meeting you, and I wish you all success with your research and publications." She offered him her hand, which he shook awkwardly, looking nonplussed. If she was reading him correctly, he didn't want to leave Serenity. "Simon, River, feel free to stay in the shuttle if you choose. I'm going out."

"You won't be using this shuttle for…your work?" Simon asked hesitatingly, noting her beautiful clothing.

Inara refrained from snorting with displeasure. Why, oh why, did everyone _always_ assume she was dressed for work? This was a simple, casual dress, and not even one of her nicer ones. "No, Simon. As I've tried to tell _Mal_, I did _not _come to Persephone to see clients. I am attending to personal and Guild business. I will be gone most of the day, but will return here by evening."

"May I leave my luggage here to be picked up later?" Neumann asked.

"Certainly," she replied, and strode out of the shuttle, leaving Neumann little choice but to head out as well.

. . .

Inara returned from her doctor's appointments exhausted and spent. She wanted nothing more than to lie down, and perhaps work up the ambition to make herself a cup of tea before turning in for the night. Unfortunately, her shuttle was occupied by Simon and River, eager to talk after spending the day lying low in the shuttle with nothing to do but watch the cortex newswaves. And Neumann might be expected to pop back for his luggage at any time.

"Ohhh," Inara moaned as she sank down on her bed.

"Inara!" Simon exclaimed. "What's wrong? You look very ill."

"Simon, I'm fine, just need recovery time," she mumbled into her pillow.

"Did a client do this to you?"

Anger gave her the strength to answer. "Everybody always assumes it's a client! _No_. I was engaged in private Guild business."

"Rough business," River said, with a strange look at Inara.

"Just need to rest," she muttered.

"Do you want me to examine you?" Simon asked officiously, reaching for his medical bag.

"No! I've seen enough doctors today!" she shouted. Simon was shocked by her outburst. Inara sighed inwardly, reflecting that Simon and River had spent their entire day engaged in the usual thrilling "adventures in sitting," and that they were starved for human contact. She gathered the shreds of her control together, and remembered her manners. "Sorry, Simon. I don't mean to snap. I just need some rest." She closed her eyes, and all was quiet for a time.

Simon was concerned at Inara's condition and puzzled by her behavior. River wasn't puzzled, but she kept her counsel. The "adventures in sitting" had not passed any more slowly than they had on a dozen other planets Serenity visited, where the plan of action generally called for the Captain, Zoe and Jayne to take the risks and do the job, Wash and Kaylee to prep the ship, and Simon and River to…sit around doing nothing. They were quite good at it, and had developed all sorts of ways of passing the time. But this time they were in the shuttle instead of the ship, and they were denied their usual resources. Simon couldn't fiddle around in the infirmary, so he had tuned in to the local cortex news, and was treated to a boring blather about Persephone society girls preparing for the annual Advocates' Dinner Dance. River, having recently been promoted from sitter to pilot, missed having the responsibility that the job entailed, and was more than usually bored. Partway through the day she had kicked Simon off the cortex and amused herself by hacking into local police channels. Even that wasn't much fun. Apparently the criminals were taking a day off. There had been one police call to Eavesdown Docks in the morning, but nothing else all day.

The quiet was interrupted by the chime indicating that a wave had come through. Inara stirred. "River, will you just see who it is?" she said with a groan. "I don't want to talk now."

River opened the channel. "It's Ip."

"You talk to him, see what he wants," Inara said.

"你好 Nǐhǎo, Ip."

"River," he began without preamble, "the crew's in trouble. I just headed over to the port district to look for another job as a supercargo or technical advisor, and the whole place is abuzz with the news that an entire squadron of Federal Marshals descended upon Eavesdown docks this morning and arrested the crew of a slave-trading ship."

Inara tried to sit up. Simon approached the screen, paying very close attention.

"It's the crew of Serenity," Ip continued. "They've been taken down to the police station for booking."

"What about the, uh, passengers?" Simon asked.

"Well, none of them could produce their identity papers…" he began.

"Neither can I!" River exclaimed, while Simon sardonically commented, "Right, because when you're fleeing for your life, you always stop and gather your files to bring with you."

"…so they've been taken to an illegal immigrant detention center until their status can be sorted out. Is Inara back yet?"

"She just got back," River informed him.

"Maybe she can begin assessing what contacts she has that may be useful here. Look, I'm going to try to find out when the arraignment hearing is. I'll come back there soon as I can. Maybe we can figure something out."

. . .

Ip Neumann sought out a public cortex access and used his electronic card. Soon the peaceful face of Brother Chan 'eil Càil filled the screen. "So what occasions the wave, Dr. Ip? Have you made progress in fitting in with the crew of Serenity?"

"Well, yes, a bit," Ip replied. "The Captain organized a slave escape from 泥球 Ní Qiú, and I aided and abetted.

"So you are fitting right in," he said with wry amusement. "Splendid."

"Well, I heeded your advice about making myself useful," Ip responded. "So I made soup for forty."

"But that isn't why you're calling, is it?"

"No," Ip explained. "You see, the Captain made contact with an abolitionist society here on Persephone. He intended to release the people to their care, drop me off here as per contract, and go on his way. But he was met on arrival by a squadron of Federal Police who arrested him for slave trafficking. It's a spurious charge of course, but he does not have the resources to defend himself, and I think it's pretty much a given that he did not secure the slaves' release through legal means. Immigration Authority has detained all of the slaves—ex-slaves. I wanted to talk to you, because I figured, with the missionary work you do among terraforming workers, you might have some idea what to do. I mean, I assume that you've been amongst the slaves as well as indentured laborers. If he's convicted, he faces a very long prison term and tremendous fines. I think it would cost him his ship, at the very least. And his crew would be convicted of aiding and abetting. I could kiss my chance of finding out about Miranda goodbye forever."

The former Operative had to smile to himself at Ip Neumann's transparency. The young man was truly concerned about Serenity's Captain and crew, but made no attempt to conceal the guileless self-interest that also motivated his desire to help. He said, "There's more than one plan that would be destroyed if the Captain were convicted. How did you avoid arrest yourself?"

"I had already left the ship in the Companion's shuttle. The Captain's due to be arraigned in court tomorrow."

"You'll have to avoid direct association with the Captain, in the event that you've been implicated in the case. But there are many things you can do. First, you'll need a list of any contacts or associates the Captain has on Persephone, particularly among people in positions of authority or high standing. Evaluate his contacts for their ability to put in a good word for him in the legal system, or for their willingness to pay for counsel. I have a few contacts myself. I'll see what I can do."

. . .

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glossary

你好 Nǐhǎo [Hello]

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><p><em>Comments and reviews appreciated!<em>


	3. Chapter 3

The Trial, Part 2a

_With Mal, Zoe, Jayne, and Kaylee in jail, Inara and the others are planning and plotting and possibly scheming._

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><p>Inara's shuttle had become the war room for the remnants of Serenity's crew, as they planned a strategy to secure the release of Mal and the others. Inara sat propped up on her bed, still looking tired, but more energetic than before. Simon sat on the stool with ready access to the cortex screen, while River and Ip Neumann occupied the sofa.<p>

"He could hardly have chosen a worse world to land escaped slaves on," Ip told them. "Even though there's a very active Abolitionist Society here, Persephone is one of the few worlds where certain forms of slavery are still officially tolerated."

"I thought slavery was abolished throughout the Alliance," Simon said. "I mean, I understand that it might exist on fringe places like 泥球 Ní Qiú and 尘球 Chén Qíu —the Alliance has hardly any presence there at all, and those places are clearly under the control of the terraforming companies, whose financial interest inclines them to make use of slave labor. But here on Persephone?

"Here on Persephone, domestic slavery is entrenched," Inara replied. "For generations, wealthy families have passed along generations of domestic servants—slaves, not indentured. The law only makes human _trafficking_ illegal."

"The recruitment, transportation, transfer, harboring, or receipt of persons, by means of threat or use of force or other forms of coercion, abduction, fraud, or abuse of power, or by means of the giving or receiving of payments or benefits, for the purpose of exploitation, shall constitute human trafficking," River recited. "Exploitation shall include the exploitation of the prostitution of others or other forms of sexual exploitation, forced labor or services, slavery or practices similar to slavery, servitude, or the removal of organs."

Ip Neumann shuddered at the mention of the removal of organs.

"Well, that's the legal definition of trafficking and exploitation," Inara replied. "But here on Persephone, the exact wording of the law has been adapted to local customs—that is, to suit the purposes of the traditional slave-owning families."

Simon was the first to catch her meaning. "So as long as they aren't _sold—_"

"That's right," she answered. "They are traded, bartered, gifted and bequeathed, but not technically 'sold'—so the slave-holding families of Persephone hold their heads up high in the firm belief that they are not breaking the human trafficking laws. Most of the people in power—the chief of police, judges, prosecutors, legislative councilors—either own slaves themselves or are from slave-holding families. What are they going to do, lock up Mother for slave trading? So the chief of police agrees not to arrest the prosecutor's Aunt Mildred, and the prosecutor agrees not to charge the police chief's brother, and they all go about their business in the usual way. That is why Mal is in such danger. He is from off-world, and has no local connections to shield him. They'll be eager to show Parliament that they _do _enforce the anti-trafficking laws, so they'll throw the book at him."

"So what he needs is a hearing in front of a judge who is sympathetic to the anti-slavery movement—" Ip offered.

"And a top-notch lawyer," Inara finished. "Preferably one who is well-connected. I'll see to that."

"I'll contact the Abolitionists and see who they recommend," Ip said. "Perhaps we can find a way to have his case come before the right magistrate."

"What are you doing, Inara?" Simon asked, as she rose from her bed and made her way to where he was seated at the cortex screen.

"Getting on the cortex. I wasn't planning on this, but I'm going to have to schedule some clients here on Persephone. I'll need to work my contacts and call in some favors."

. . .

Prosecutor Ficker sighed. Interviews with Reynolds's crew had not been very fruitful, and Reynolds himself had declined to talk at all without a lawyer present. The usual tough talk, belligerence, and threats of consequences if he _didn't _talk, had all seemed to faze him not a bit. In fact, the man had even seemed _amused _at the threat of violent consequences if he didn't spill. The man hadn't retained a lawyer—couldn't _afford_ a lawyer—and a court-appointed lawyer couldn't be expected until after Reynolds was arraigned on charges. There seemed no chance of getting him to incriminate himself.

Reynolds's first officer, Zoe Washburne, had been tight-lipped. She had verified that she was Reynolds's second-in-command, and that there had been thirty-two persons aboard the ship besides crew, but gave very little information otherwise. The only other facts gleaned from the interview with her were that Serenity had landed at Eavesdown Docks with water tanks, food stores, and fuel nearly depleted.

The crewman, Jayne Cobb, had been even less helpful. The man was clearly the dumb muscle of the crew, and at first the prosecutor had hoped he was dumb enough to spill everything. But the man acted as if his job description were physical intimidation, rather than hauling crates. He'd sat in the interview room with muscle-bound arms crossed, drumming his fingers and maintaining a stony silence and belligerent stare.

The mechanic, on the other hand, had been quite loquacious. The thing was, not a bit of it was useful as incriminating evidence. By her account, the captain was a knight in shining armor, rescuing defenseless unfortunates, giving them charity out of the goodness of his heart, sacrificing his own few small comforts for the sake of the so-called passengers. He'd spent the voyage mixing with the slaves (the prosecutor had to remind himself to refer to them as "slaves", even though the little mechanic had referred to them throughout her encomium as "passengers") dispensing good cheer and soup—_soup! _for 耶稣 Yēsū sake—while efficiently and responsibly captaining his ship. As evidence it was brilliant—if the captain had been a candidate for beatification. As evidence of wrong-doing—not so much. The prosecutor had suspected that the mechanic must be romantically involved with the captain, but when the interviewer had suggested exactly that, she'd immediately responded, "What, me and the Cap'n? Oh, hell no!" accompanied by a snort of laughter so natural that the prosecutor found himself unable to maintain that theory. She truly believed her captain to be a good man. The prosecutor, of course, intended to prove otherwise.

. . .

Kaylee had never spent a night in prison before, and although she knew the Captain would fix things and they'd all be released, she didn't want to spend another day in lock-up. She didn't really have any friends on Persephone, other than the folks she met when she went with the Captain to that fancy shindig some time ago—the shindig with the strawberries and the hot cheese and the floaty chandelier, and the punching. Oh yeah—the punching, she recalled, crestfallen. So she was very surprised when she was pulled from her cell and told she had a visitor.

It was Ip Neumann on the other side of the glass barrier, and she was never so glad to see a friendly face in her life.

"Ip!"

"Kaylee, I'm glad to see you," he replied. "I'm here as an emissary from _your doctor_."

Kaylee gasped and her eyes went round. Ip proceeded to make inquiries as to her health and treatment in prison, but she knew these were just preliminaries. She answered his questions and waited for him to bring up the real business.

"How about your crewmates?" he asked.

"Ain't seen a one of them since they brought us here. I'm so worried about the Captain. They accused him of bein' a slave-trader!" she exclaimed, outraged. "Can you believe it? They don't got a clue. And I suppose they're accusin' us all of helpin' the Cap'n run slaves."

"Kaylee, you can help. Some time ago, I understand, you and the Captain attended a ball here on Persephone. Can you tell me the names of any society people either of you met and conversed with at that ball?"

. . .

Neumann conferred with the others back at Inara's war room. "She mentioned Hector Murphy, Banning Miller and her friends Destra, Cabot, and Zelle, George Blumenthal and his son Myron Blumenthal, John Hoepner, Warwick Harrow. Harrow was the Captain's business contact."

Simon searched with a portable sourcebox, while River checked the cortex. Simon's search turned up results first. "Murphy is a gentleman farmer…holdings in Elk Harvester Tractor Company…" Simon read. "Banning Miller's just a society girl, but her mother is Lady Eugenia Miller, a philanthropist."

"What are Eugenia's causes?" Neumann asked.

Simon checked. "She supports the Daughters of the Alliance, Purple Seal Alliance Veterans' Association, Patriots' Fund. Oh, that won't help at all."

"Found him!" River exclaimed brightly.

"Found who, River?"

She turned the cortex screen toward them, and they read, "Sir Warwick Harrow, magistrate of the 29th Circuit Court…"

. . .

Inara greeted the slender red-haired woman fondly. "Melissa, I would take it as a particular favor if you would take up the case of Captain Reynolds. There's no one on Persephone more respected than you in the area of human rights law, and that's exactly what this case is about."

"Inara, for you I'd do just about anything. Where would I be without your introductions, your referrals? You launched my career, and I appreciate it." She smiled fondly at her friend and benefactor, and the two settled down at her desk. "Let me look it up… Persephone vs. Malcolm Reynolds…" She studied the case listing closely for a few minutes, and then turned to Inara with a set expression. "Inara, I'm sorry, I can't do this. The man is accused of human trafficking. I've built my career taking a principled stand against human rights abuses, and slavery is one of the leading forms of abuse, right along with political persecution and torture. I can't defend a slaver."

"You can take this case, Melissa, because he's not a slave trader. He released these people from illegal slavery on 泥球 Ní Qiú, and was injured in the process. He transported them at his own expense to Persephone, even though he can ill afford it. He and the crew put themselves on short rations and restricted water use just to accommodate the needs of these people. And despite his injury, he went among the people throughout the journey, heartening them and keeping up their spirits. He contacted the SAHT here to receive the people and help them on their way. And as a reward for this labor of love, when he landed, he and his crew were seized and accused of slave trafficking. If I know him, he is now immersed in bitter reflections. He tried to do something right and his reward is what? Being thrown in jail and accused of practicing what he abhors."

"Now he sounds like an ideal client for me. So, Inara—what's the catch?"

Inara evaded the question. "I'll cover expenses. I'm certain he can't afford your rates."

"Inara, that's not the issue. I always do some _pro bono _work, and this sounds like the kind of case the SAHT would want to support. What's the real catch?"

"Captain Reynolds has a checkered past, one that does not bear close scrutiny. He's an ex-Independent, a sergeant, and the 'ex-' part of that is simply because the war is over. His life since the end of the war, I gather, has been a personal expression of independence from the Alliance—independence of its rules, restrictions—I think you take my meaning."

"Oh my."

"The longer he stays in custody, the more time the prosecution has to come up with a list of charges as long as my leg."

"Right. I think I know just what to do." Melissa Draper consulted her cortex screen. "The arraignment hearing is today. I will go over to court and introduce myself to my new client, and ask the magistrate for a delay."

"A _delay?_" Inara was astonished. Knowing that Mal's best chance was to get released from jail and off the planet before the prosecution figured out just what a marked man he was, she didn't see what good could possibly come from any delay. "How will that help?"

"The best chance for Captain Reynolds is to avoid a trial. We had better try to get the charges dismissed at the arraignment hearing, and send the Captain on his way before his past catches up to him. And I can't accomplish that without more information. I'll need at least a few days to interview the Captain and his crew. I'll petition to be allowed access to the detained passengers, but Immigration is very controlling, and they rely on their slow response time to discourage investigators." Melissa Draper was already closing her briefcase and standing up. "An army of researchers wouldn't hurt either," she added.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

泥球 Ní Qiú [name of a world]

尘球 Chén Qiú [name of a world]

耶稣 Yēsū [Jesus]

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><p><em>Thanks for reviewing!<em>


	4. Chapter 4

The Trial, Part 2b

_Mal stands alone before the judge._

* * *

><p>. . .<p>

Mal recognized the magistrate immediately, and felt a flicker of hope. It was Sir Warwick Harrow, the same man who had hired him (through Badger) to smuggle cattle off-planet, and who had volunteered to be his second in that bizarre duel with swords that he'd fought with Atherton Wing. Harrow gave no sign of recognizing Mal. It was as if he had no memory at all of their last meeting. Harrow opened the proceedings with bureaucratic regularity, and Mal's flicker of hope died out. He stood alone before the bench.

"Are you Malcolm Reynolds?" Sir Warwick Harrow inquired, in official tones.

"I am."

"And do you understand the charges against you?"

"No, sir. I don't understand it at all," Mal answered. "Seems to me I've been arrested for something I didn't do."

"You will have an opportunity to enter a plea at your trial," Harrow replied unsympathetically. "The purpose of this hearing is to apprise you of the charges and to advise you of your rights." Mal was ready to reply, but Harrow powered on, "You stand accused of thirty-two counts of illegal trafficking of human beings across interplanetary borders, pursuant to Title Eight, Article Four, Section Twenty-Six of the criminal code, each count of which carries a maximum sentence of twenty-five years in prison. You stand accused of unlawful enslavement, again thirty-two counts, pursuant to Title Eight, Article Three, Section Eighteen, each of which carries a maximum penalty of twenty years in prison. You are also charged with kidnapping, thirty-two counts…"

"This is unbelievable," Mal said inaudibly.

Harrow continued with a regular litany of charges. Besides trafficking, enslavement, and kidnapping, he was accused of violating terms of indenture and aiding and abetting breach of indentures. _Indentures!_ he objected, mentally. The gall they had, pretending that they'd extended to those slaves even the minimal benefits provided by a contract of indenture. He realized that someone must have prepared all manner of false documentation, and that it had preceded him to Persephone. Meanwhile, Harrow was droning on, naming the violations of law Mal had supposedly committed, along with the penalties—prison terms, and now, as they moved on to lesser charges, fines.

"…each count of which carries a maximum penalty of one year in prison and maximum fine of 10,000 platinum. You stand accused of smuggling uncustomed goods across interplanetary borders—"

Mal snorted at the mention of smuggling. Not a gorram thing on 泥球 Ní Qiú worth smuggling. That was his professional assessment.

Harrow ignored his snort. "—pursuant to Title Eleven, Article Forty-Two, Section Eighty-Seven, maximum penalty, fine equal to assessed value of said goods plus additional fine not to exceed fifty percent penalty, and prison time not exceeding two years. You stand accused of tariff evasion, pursuant to Title Fourteen, Article Seventeen, Section Thirty-Four…"

"这是一场噩梦 Zhè shì yī cháng èmèng."

"…penalty of thirty days imprisonment and fine not to exceed five hundred percent of said tariff," Harrow continued. "Also, you are charged with illegal possession of firearms…"

_非法的枪支吗__Fēifǎ de qīangzhī ma?_ _Guilty as charged_, he thought, but kept a poker face.

"Do you understand the charges?" Harrow finished, and drew breath.

Mal tallied it up mentally. Near about two thousand years in prison and a fine of one million platinum. _I understand, but I do not comprehend._ Aloud he said, "Yes, sir."

"You have the right to counsel," Harrow proceeded, automatically. "In the event you are unable to afford it, the court will appoint counsel for you. Have you retained counsel?"

Mal was about to answer no when a voice from behind answered for him. "He has."

"_He has?_" Mal repeated.

The lawyer who had spoken handed him her business card. He read her name, and on the back, a handwritten scrawl, "Trust me" in Inara's hand, with the characters 射线光 shèxiàn guǎng, 宁静 Níngjìng and 提取 的计划 tíqǔ de jìhuà.

"Ah, Melissa!" Harrow exclaimed. "I see Captain Reynolds is in good hands." To the court recorder, he added, "Enter Ms Draper's credentials in the record." He then turned to the prosecutor.

"Your Honor," Melissa Draper spoke up, "I humbly submit a motion that this arraignment be postponed."

"Please state your grounds."

"Given the quantity and nature of the charges, inadequate time has been allowed to verify either their accuracy or applicability."

Harrow looked to the prosecutor for his reply.

"The arresting officers verified the presence of thirty-two persons besides crew on Captain Reynolds' ship," Prosecutor Ficker stated.

"And they further averred that these persons were enslaved by Captain Reynolds?" Harrow asked pointedly.

"No, your Honor, they stated that the—"

Harrow interrupted. "Could not these persons have been passengers?"

"There was no record of payment of passage—"

"There is ambiguity here. I uphold the motion of the defense," Harrow pronounced. "I grant a stay of four days to allow defense and prosecution adequate time to verify the accuracy and applicability of the charges. This arraignment will reconvene on Tuesday."

So far, his lawyer had won him four more days in jail, Mal thought, as the bailiff took him down to his cell. Still, he was somehow cheered by the sight of Harrow springing into action and laying into that weasel-faced prosecutor. Mal did not see him, but Ip Neumann left the courtroom's observer gallery, and headed back to Inara's shuttle.

. . .

"_An army of researchers wouldn't hurt."_ Inara mulled over Melissa Draper's words as she scrolled through the client registry, searching through Companion requests on Persephone, screening the requests and assessing which ones were most likely to be fruitful. An army of researchers….Which of these clients, and which of their requests, might allow Inara to bring the most influence to bear on Mal's case? Could she deliver the equivalent of an army of researchers? She sorted the requests and investigated the backgrounds of some of the most likely candidates—house party at Judge Johannsen's country estate with Sir Mervyn Tang; evening at the Savoy Theatricals Company and overnight with Elliott Douglass, the State's Attorney; the Advocates' Society Dinner Dance with Judge Advocate Momsen, as dance partner and beta tester. _Beta tester?_ Whatever did that mean? As she considered the requests, she balanced Mal's need for all the help he could get with how far she was willing to go to save him.

. . .

The next morning, Mal's new lawyer met with him in a room at the prison. "Ms Draper," Mal said, after the introductions were properly made, "that business card of yours is a high recommendation in and of itself. I don't know as how I can even afford a lawyer at all, but I figure maybe you can—" he broke off and waved vaguely in the air. _Pull money out of a hat? Find a magic pot of platinum? _He really had no idea how he could pay.

"Your friends on Persephone are concerned that you be represented in the best possible light," she answered.

"That's very generous of them. Don't know as how I deserve such generosity," Mal said, wondering exactly which friends were footing the bill, as he couldn't think of any as were friendly enough _and _had the money for it.

"Everyone deserves to have an advocate on his behalf in court. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Do you know if my crew is safe?" Mal asked. "Are they being charged as well?"

"Your crew is being held at this prison. None of them has been mistreated. Their jeopardy is entirely dependent on your case, Captain Reynolds. They are accused of aiding and abetting in the charges made against you. If we can get your case dismissed, the charges against your crew will likewise be dropped." She opened her briefcase and picked up her stylus to take notes. "Now, it would help if you told me how it was that you knew the people who arrived at Persephone aboard your ship were being held as slaves on 泥球 Ní Qiú."

Mal met her look full on. "I _saw _those people in shackles," he began, his indignation rising as he recalled what he had seen. "I saw them being taken to the slave pen and locked in. I saw them being served their mush without even the opportunity to wash the mud from their hands and faces. I saw them being loaded off the shuttles from the terraforming work site. Everybody on 泥球 Ní Qiú openly acknowledged that they were slaves, sayin' that it was just the way things were, that they couldn't do nothin' about it. Well I couldn't _not _do nothin' about it. And that's why I—"

"—and that's why you invited them aboard your ship," Melissa Draper interjected, cutting him off. She suspected that the release of the slaves might have involved illegal acts, and she did not want to know.

"Yeah, that's why I invited them aboard," Mal finished, carefully.

. . .

Inara and Ip Neumann met with Melissa Draper at her office.

"I'm quite taken with your Captain Reynolds, Inara," she said, smiling.

"He's not _my_—" Inara began, reflexively.

"He stood there and took it while they threw the proverbial book at him. Thirty-two counts each of illegal trafficking of human beings and unlawful enslavement as their first line offensive, with back-up charges of kidnapping, should they fail to prove enslavement. And then a fall-back of aiding and abetting breach of indentures. The prosecution will have to submit indenture contracts, and investigating the validity of those documents will be our first research project."

"How could they possibly come up with indenture contracts?" Ip asked.

"Someone on 泥球 Ní Qiú knew where the ship was headed and planned this reception for Captain Reynolds very carefully. The prosecution already has the indenture contracts in hand."

"I saw those people in the slave pen when Captain Reynolds and I delivered the cargo to the agent," Ip said. "They couldn't possibly have valid indentures."

"Then proving the documents to be invalid will be our first order of business."

"We can help with the research," Ip offered.

"That I like to hear—because researching the contractual status of thirty-two individuals is going to be a difficult task. The more we know about these people's individual cases, the stronger our case becomes."

Inara spoke up. "Captain Reynolds made a point of talking to each and every one of the people—he probably learned all their names, and a good deal more besides. Actually, it was amazing to see—they could have been left tired, filthy, miserable, and unsure of their future. He filled them with hope and confidence. They knew he _cared_."

Ip agreed. "I honestly don't know how he did it, since he was still recovering from his injury, and he was on short commons like the rest of us."

"Shorter commons," Inara inserted. "Did you see how he waited until every one else had their servings before eating? I know for a fact that one day he had nothing but half a mug of soup."

"The testimonials are all very fine," Melissa Draper said, "but it's time to get down to business. You're saying that the Captain himself would know the most information about the people?"

"Definitely," Inara replied.

"Then I'll ask him to provide all the details he can at the next interview."

"What's going to happen to those people?" Ip Neumann asked the lawyer.

"Well, they're all being held at the Immigration Services detention facility. They'll be given a limited time to make their case to stay on Persephone, and if they should fail in that, they'll be deported to their place of origin."

"But we don't know where most of them were caught…oh, you mean they'll be sent back to 泥球 Ní Qiú? But that just puts them back into slavery! That's outrageous."

"They have only two ways to avoid deportation to 泥球 Ní Qiú. If they can come up with Ident Cards or papers to prove who they are, they could return to their home worlds or apply for legal entry. If they can prove that a return to 泥球 Ní Qiú would result in their enslavement, they could make a case for asylum on Persephone."

"None of them has an Ident Card," Ip exclaimed, outraged. "_Slaves don't have Ident Cards_. How can they possibly prove…?"

"Dr Neumann, now you know what I'm up against every day," Melissa Draper replied.

. . .

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glossary

泥球 Ní Qiú [name of a world]

这是一场噩梦 Zhè shì yī cháng èmèng. [This is a nightmare.]

_非法的枪支吗 __Fēifǎ de qīangzhī ma? [Illegal firearms?]_

射线光 shèxiàn guǎng [ray of light]

宁静 Níngjìng [Serenity]

提取 的计划 tíqǔ de jìhuà [extraction plan]

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><p><em>AN: Reviews! Comments! Love to hear 'em._


	5. Chapter 5

The Trial, Part 3a

_Inara works her contacts; more plotting and scheming._

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><p>. . .<p>

"We stand the best chance of freeing the Captain if we can prove that the indenture contracts are fake, and better yet if we can find evidence that the people were kidnapped or reported missing from their homes _before_ Serenity ever came to 泥球 Ní Qiú," Neumann said.

"Can't we just ask the people to give us their histories?" Simon asked. It seemed the obvious question, but both Neumann and Inara seemed to be ignoring it as an option. "They would know best, wouldn't they, what world they were on when they were kidnapped, how they came to be enslaved? Couldn't they just attest that they boarded Serenity willingly?"

"We could ask them, Simon, if we could talk to them," Inara replied. "That's the problem with the Immigration Detention Center. According to Melissa, Immigration throws up every possible barrier to communication. Even family members and the detainees' lawyers have to apply for access, and it often takes days or weeks for the applications to be processed. And even then, many of the applications are denied. Melissa told me she'd consider herself lucky if she got to meet with any of them at all before the arraignment hearing reconvenes on Tuesday. The SAHT is working on getting access to the detainees, but so far they've not been able to meet with any of them."

"Did you talk with any of them while they were aboard Serenity?" Ip asked. "One guy told me about how he got taken on Paquin. He answered a help wanted ad, signed up for what he thought was a mining job, and found himself on a transport—not to a mine on Santo, but to a slave market. He was unceremoniously auctioned off and has been working terraforming sites near Newhall and 泥球 Ní Qiú for three years."

Simon nodded. "I talked with some of the people, the ones who needed medical care." He thought for a moment. "There was a woman with a—" he coughed abruptly "—medical condition, who told me she'd had the problem ever since she was abducted from her home on Ezra. But most of the people didn't tell me where they came from—I'm the doctor, so they told me their symptoms. I could make a list of what I remember, but it won't be very long. What about you, River?"

"Too many voices in there," she said, with a little note of panic in her voice. "It was getting very crowded and I had to get away."

"You spent most of the flight on the bridge, didn't you?" Neumann asked.

River nodded. It was almost enough to overwhelm her now, just remembering how crowded it got in her head, especially the first two days, before the Captain started calming people down. She worked to control her panic. She did not want to lose control in front of Ip Neumann. He still thought of her as a more or less normal young woman, actual and whole, and she really wanted to keep it that way.

"Oh, River," Simon lamented, "if only you could go with Ms Draper to hear what Mal knows about our 'guests' we'd have a lot more information to go on. But it's not safe. You and I shouldn't even go out together—we're too tempting a target. If only Zoe or Jayne were here."

This speech made little sense to Ip Neumann. Why was Simon so worried about safety? The dockyard area was a little dicey, to be sure, but Inara's shuttle was parked right in the best part of town, and not far from the courthouse.

"I'll go without you then, Simon," River said.

"No, River." Simon was adamant. "You can't just walk into an Alliance jail—it's far too dangerous—" with a glance at Neumann, he cut himself off and re-thought his words "—for a girl of your age," he finished lamely for Neumann's benefit.

"To go from here to the visitors' entrance with the Captain's lawyer?" Ip was incredulous. "Simon, aren't you being a bit over-protective? It's not as if she'd be _in_ _jail_."

_Yes it is_, Simon thought. Rescindment notice or not, River's former status as a highly wanted fugitive and her current status as a person of not necessarily normal behavior were both things that might attract unwanted attention. And drawing attention to herself in an Alliance detention facility just might be too tempting for those who were still pursuing her to resist. Simon was convinced that someone was still after River, despite the official rescindment. _Two by two, Hands of Blue: _the creepy nursery rhyme that River recited every time that she was most agitated. Simon didn't know what kind of authority or access those Hands of Blue had, but he well remembered his feelings of terror as they pursued him and River in the hospital on Ariel. He had no desire to put River or himself in that kind of position again. "The fewer of us who are seen acting on the Captain's behalf, the better," Simon asserted, more rationally.

"I can't exactly do it long distance, Simon," River inserted. "I'm not some kind of goddess with magical powers, despite what people think."

Ip Neumann stared, while Inara laughed at this speech. "Long distance…" Simon mused.

"Do _what_ long distance?" Ip asked, puzzled.

"I wonder how we might do that." Simon began running through possibilities, but lacked the technical knowledge to come up with any workable solution. "Some kind of two-way CorVue screen….Would that work? But how could we get a vid link in to Mal? They'd never let it past the door."

Inara's mind was racing. _The Advocates' Society Dinner Dance with Judge Advocate Momsen, as dance partner and beta tester._ She'd done her research. Colonel Momsen had been nicknamed 'Inspector Gadget' by his colleagues because he was always testing out new high-tech equipment with law enforcement applications. When she contacted him for a preliminary interview, she'd asked him to elaborate on the "beta tester" part of the contract, as it was an unusual request to make of a Companion. While he'd declined to be specific unless she accepted the contract, he'd been quite forthcoming about the general nature of the beta testing: weaponry and surveillance equipment, to be tested at the dinner dance itself. He'd laughed as he assured her that no shooting would be involved, and explained in what way the weaponry was being tested. Then, unable to resist, he allowed himself to explain in somewhat more detail the nature of the surveillance equipment. "I have an idea," Inara told the others.

. . .

Inara spent the evening on the job with her client, Colonel Cyrus Momsen. He was sly and had no interest in her as a bed partner, but the annual Advocates Society Dinner Dance was an event not to be missed by someone in his profession. He adored dancing and liked to have a female dance partner, preferably one who was skilled enough to follow his lead in the many couple dances he excelled at. He was senior Judge Advocate on Persephone, and although Mal's case was in the civilian court, Inara made it her business to ensure that the military did not also want a piece of the action. An important benefit of escorting Colonel Momsen was that she was well-placed to mingle with the flower of Persephone's legal profession, taking the pulse of the room and making contact with key individuals. It was this aspect of the event that had caused Inara to consider Momsen's request in the first place, and luckily, Momsen's secondary agenda played into her purposes as well.

It was another case of dancing on the razor's edge. Momsen of course danced with her, but he also expected her to dance with others. The Dinner Dance was not one of those gatherings of boorish people who arrived with their dancing partner and stuck to them like glue for the entire evening. In fact, many of the Advocates went to the other extreme and abandoned their spouses, dates, and dance partners in order to get on with the serious business of working the room. People asked others to dance, and mixed and mingled, and Momsen had a list of people he expected Inara to dance with and socialize with on his behalf, while he worked his way through another list of his own. During the course of the evening, Inara was able to gather reassurances from allies of Melissa Draper, Sir Warwick Harrow, and other supporters of abolition that the Reynolds case was in their sights and that they would apply their influence in the direction she wished. She worked the other angle as well, dropping hints with friends of Prosecutor Ficker that their interests might best be furthered by tempering the prosecutor's zeal. Ficker himself was in attendance, and although she was careful not to interact with him directly, she planted the seeds for a plan that she hoped would bear fruit in short order. Ficker cherished political ambitions—everyone knew he was eager to be elected State's Attorney—and Inara was able to work several of Ficker's political allies around to the view that a conviction in the slave trafficking case would not accrue to Ficker's political benefit.

She had to work hard for her fee. Momsen might not want to sleep with her, but he did have high expectations from the Companion, and she was obligated to meet them. Exhausted as she was by the recent round of amelioration therapy, she had to keep her wits about her as she worked the room, making sure that she fulfilled Momsen's expectations in that regard as well as serving her own interests. And then there was the beta testing.

Ah, yes, the beta testing. As soon as she contracted with him, Momsen told her more of the details. "You know, I tested the limits of the most high-tech gun-scan on Persephone at a society function a few months ago."

"Did the scan detect your weapon?" she asked, all innocence.

"One of them," he answered seriously. "I relinquished it, of course, with a sheepish grin—silly me, how could I have forgotten? But the scan didn't detect the other concealed weapon."

"How can that be?"

"It was made of a new material, whose exact chemical make-up I am not at liberty to describe—highly classified military secret, you understand." He gave Inara a wink, and she understood that he was similarly armed tonight, packing iron, or at least packing classified material, at that very moment.

"Tonight," he added, "my second weapon is an upgrade, version 2.0 if you will, and although the gun-scan at the Advocates' Dinner Dance is even more advanced than the one at that ball a few months back, I'm hoping it will come through undetected. Now you, my dear, will be carrying your armament in plain sight—"

"I'll be carrying _what_?" Inara responded in surprise.

"Your armament," Momsen repeated, and he held out a set of what looked like hair ornaments. "Allow me."

Inara submitted to having the admittedly good-looking ornaments placed in her hair. She examined her reflection in the mirror and was pleased with the effect. Momsen certainly had an eye for aesthetics. "Did you design these…what _are_ they, anyway?"

"Hair ornaments," he answered. "I am not about to disclose the exact nature of the weapons they contain." He relented and smiled. "And yes, I did consult on their outward appearance, although I had nothing to do with designing the technology they contain. I'm no engineer. But I told them what they needed to look like if they really expected a lady to carry these weapons at a public function."

Inara wondered aloud what she should do if the hair ornament weapons were detected by the gun-scan.

"Play the ditzy female card," Momsen advised. "Oh, I can't think how such a thing ended up in my hair!" he squeaked in a horrible falsetto. "I must simply _fire_ that servant girl, how could she have made such a mistake, I said hair _ornament,_ not hair _armament._"

Inara laughed at the horrible pun, inwardly rolling her eyes and vowing to put on a much more effective performance if required.

"But it won't be detected," Momsen continued. "I can nearly guarantee that—but not quite, which is why you're wearing them in your hair tonight." Inara understood that the point of carrying the weapons was to test the security system. Momsen would carry more than one weapon, one of which he expected to be found, and one of which he hoped would not be detected—and that would give him information about the gun scan's capabilities. He continued, "Now—the surveillance equipment. This is the really exciting part."

He was almost bouncing up and down in his eagerness, and Inara had to work very hard not to show her disappointment when he produced, with fanfare and flourish, a pair of glasses. Ordinary-looking glasses. "Here you go. Not quite as fashionable as the hair armaments," he chuckled.

_That's an understatement, _Inara thought as she studied herself in the mirror. The glasses weren't bad-looking, and they didn't interfere with her vision, but they did give her an owlish look that she didn't much care for.

Momsen produced a second pair of glasses and put them on himself. _Definitely an owlish look_, Inara thought, as she regarded Cyrus Momsen. She kept her features schooled into a calm and pleasant expression as she smiled at him, while inside she was jumping up and down, pointing at him and saying, _I can see why they call you Inspector Gadget._

"You can see why they call me Inspector Gadget," he grinned, and Inara hid her start of shock. Did these glasses give him psychic abilities, too? "Every time I get my hands on something new like this, I just can't resist—even if it means wearing glasses at a society function."

Inara would have gladly, easily, resisted the urge to wear glasses at a society function, but she was being paid to be a beta tester, so she said nothing and kept her expression neutral.

"These glasses are the two-way vid links I was telling you about before. They're the latest thing—military just acquired the technology from the Parliamentary Operatives Bureau, very hush-hush. You can look through the screens and see the room, or focus on the screens and see what's on them, although I warn you, it gives you a bit of a glassy-eyed stare."

. . .

.

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glossary

泥球 Ní Qiú [name of a world]

* * *

><p><em>AN: Please review! Love to read your comments._


	6. Chapter 6

The Trial, Part 3b

_Inara works her contacts. Simon and Ip and River do a bit of research. The Captain meets with his lawyer. There is plotting and planning and possibly scheming._

_Colonel Momsen has just told Inara that the surveillance glasses she's wearing will give her a bit of a glassy-eyed stare._

* * *

><p>. . .<p>

That was another understatement, Inara found. When the screens were activated, it was so distracting she could barely continue the most basic conversation with the person she was speaking to, who stopped short and said, "Inara, is something wrong?" It was not too bad when the glasses were in "send" mode, but when her glasses shifted to "receive" mode and Momsen's conversation from the next room played in front of her eyes while the audio unit in the earpiece transmitted by bone conduction right into her ear, it took all her concentration and all her training in the art of conversation to respond, "I'm fine. I think my glasses are giving me a headache."

Her friend looked at her strangely. "I've never seen you wear glasses before, Inara. I'm surprised you didn't consider corrective surgery."

"Oh, these are…temporary," Inara improvised, as another blast of Momsen's conversation threatened to derail even that simple sentence before she could get it all out. "I'm going to sit down. 请原谅我 Qǐng yuánliàng wǒ."

A few minutes later, Momsen arrived and sat next to her on the sofa. He had removed his glasses, and Inara took it as a cue to remove hers, which she did with relief.

"Blast it all," he said, frustrated. "These glasses are so 该死的 gāisǐ de distracting. I think it's got potential, but for now I feel as if instead of having one fruitful conversation, I can carry on two incoherent conversations at once. I'm not sure it's a step forward. If only I could test these under less distracting circumstances." He appeared lost in thought for a moment. "I can think of lots of ways to test them further—you and I could test them from different hotel rooms in the morning, for example—but nothing I can think of involves passing through a detection system, and that's a key element of the test."

He appeared lost in thought, and clearly his frustration was mounting behind the blandly pleasant expression he wore on his face like a mask for society functions. Inara saw her opportunity. "My friend Melissa Draper is visiting a client in lock-up tomorrow," Inara offered. "What if I were to persuade her to wear the glasses? She'll be passing through the security scan at the visitors' entrance to the jail—"

"That's brilliant!" Momsen exclaimed. "That's one of the best security scans on the world. If the glasses pass undetected—" he glanced at Inara and declined to continue that line of thought aloud. He coughed and added, "You must be confident in your powers of persuasion. Are you sure Ms Draper won't mind having me listen in on her private conversation with her client? She's a—" he paused ever so slightly as he made the connection "—human rights attorney—isn't that right?"

Inara smiled. "Yes, she is. And no, I don't think I could persuade her to let you listen in. But I do think I could persuade her to let _me_ listen in. And I could give you a full report when I return the glasses to you—about how the glasses function, _not_ the content of the conversation. Companions don't tell." She accompanied that statement with a look, and saw that he understood her point about the legendary discretion of Companions.

"Hmm. This might work." He stood up and offered Inara a hand. "Meanwhile, let's dance. Do you know the reverse flåm hambo?" And he led her away in three-quarter time.

Many of Inara's skills were called into use at the Advocates' Dinner Dance. Dancing, conversing, working contacts, beta testing high-tech surveillance equipment while wearing undetectable weaponry in her hair—well, she had to admit that was a new one, perhaps she should mention it to the Guild, and they could design a course to prepare young Companions for the possibility…. She was not used to dancing for hours on end, and when they retired for the night, having danced non-stop for nearly five hours, Momsen expected her to massage his sore muscles.

At last, after an endless foot massage—_his_ feet, not hers—Inara was free to retire to her own bed. She fell into an exhausted slumber, too far gone for dreaming. The next day she awoke to the sun streaming through the window, still tired and sore. It wasn't over. She had two more clients in the next two days. But she allowed herself a feeling of satisfaction as she regarded the two pairs of surveillance glasses and packed them discretely into her hand luggage.

. . .

Melissa Draper pulled out her brief and studied her client for a moment through the odd pair of reading glasses. "I'd like for you to tell me anything you know about the individuals who traveled on your vessel from 泥球 Ní Qiú to Persephone. Names, ages, where they're from if you know it, profession, any information you have about how they ended up enslaved on 泥球 Ní Qiú. Your friends made a particular request for you to _think about each person _as you tell me the details, and to look me in the eye. I was told it had something to do with…_an albatross_," she said with a puzzled expression.

"An albatross?" Mal's expression showed comprehension almost immediately. "Right. Well, there's Mr and Mrs Vladimir and Ilona Chow," he said, concentrating on the mental image of the couple with as much detail as he could. _Hope you're tuning in, Albatross_, he thought, and imagined that he heard River answering _loud and clear _in his mind. He didn't rightly know how River's abilities worked exactly, but if she could somehow garner useful information by having him stare into the lawyer's owl glasses (which he deduced to be some kind of surveillance device that Draper had somehow snuck past security) then he would cooperate. "Kidnapped on their way home from work on Whitefall six years ago. Left behind their four children, ages six through thirteen, to fend for themselves. I don't know if there would be a missing persons report on that planet, Whitefall has a pretty irregular form of local government…"

. . .

It was the oddest experience Ip had had in a long time. He and River had set out with the Captain's lawyer, walking toward the courthouse complex. Inara had announced that the lawyer would be wearing a special pair of glasses inside the courthouse jailblock, and that River was to wear another pair. She twiddled and fiddled with both pairs of glasses for a considerable time, from which Ip had deduced that the glasses were not your garden-variety reading glasses, but neither Inara nor anyone else would explain the plan or the significance of the glasses.

"Don't go inside," Simon insisted, for the sixth time.

River rolled her eyes, the expression exaggerated by the lenses. "No, silly," she said. "I don't have to go in. Just near. They won't know I'm there to listen. Ms Draper will let the Captain know the Albatross needs to hear. He'll understand why."

"I'll walk her there," Ip offered, and River skipped with delight. Simon's reaction was a comical mixture of relief—someone would be keeping an eye on his vulnerable sister—and annoyance—because the person keeping an eye on her was not himself, but Ip Neumann.

River insisted upon Ip's escorting her literally—arm in arm—and danced along by his side. When they neared the visitors' entrance to the jail, she insisted that he accompany her to the park across the street, rather than waiting near the entrance or going in. They strolled through the park, chatting light-heartedly, until River suddenly stopped in her tracks and cocked her head with an odd expression on her face.

"What's wrong, River?" he asked.

"Sshhhh!" she said. "Listening!" She sank down onto a nearby park bench, and for the next half hour or more she sat, frozen, with an expression of intense concentration that managed at the same time to look completely vacant. He tried asking her what was going on, but it was if she were absent. She didn't even seem to hear him. He decided to take his role as protector seriously, since she so clearly was not engaged in her present surroundings. He sat on the bench and watched people pass by. It was a fine spring day, and it really wasn't such a terrible hardship to be passing the time on a park bench with a pretty girl by his side, even if she was behaving rather strangely. He fielded a few questions from people who stared, explaining that his friend had never been the same since her hovercraft accident, but that she seemed to enjoy the fresh air nonetheless.

About forty minutes later, River suddenly stood up. "Time to go," she said, with a winsome smile, just as if she had not been sitting mute and frozen for a good portion of an hour. "Betcha can't catch me!" And she took off across the park at a run.

He raced after her. She didn't stick to the footpath, but dashed around flowerbeds and leapt over bushes. She actually ran _under_ the rim of the fountain, avoided a woman walking a dog by dancing between the two and leaping the leash, and ran a complete circle around a father pushing a baby carriage. She finally allowed Ip to catch her by pinning her against the trunk of a large tree. "Won't stop unless you kiss me," she laughed. So he did, a quick, friendly peck on the—she turned her head at the last second and he landed on her lips instead.

It was nice. He pulled back, and they gazed smilingly at each other. Then River took his arm, and they walked back toward the courthouse, meeting Melissa Draper shortly after she exited the visitors' door. She told them that Captain Reynolds's descriptions had been very thorough and specific—River nodded knowingly—and she handed Ip an electronic portfolio and a glasses case. They parted ways and Ip and River made their way back to Inara's shuttle.

"That wasn't very nice, you know, telling people that my brain got damaged in a hovercraft accident," River said.

"I'm sorry," Ip said, unapologetically. "But I had to make up something. People were staring."

"It's not true," River said.

"I know, but how else could I explain the vacant stare, the frozen posture, the—"

"The real story," she said with a mischievous smile, looking him directly in the eye, "is much more interesting."

. . .

River spent most of the next forty-eight hours on the cortex doing research. She accessed the indenture contracts that the prosecutor had entered into evidence. As she began to investigate them a disturbing picture emerged. None of the indentures were made out with the names the Captain's 泥球 Ní Qiú guests had given him. The descriptions, pictures, and retinal scans on each indenture contract matched the people, however. When River looked up the retinal scans in Social Control Office database—a clever bit of hacking made easier with the help of a code supplied discretely by Ip, who told her he had obtained it through a friend—the retinal records matched with the names given on the indentures. An unsuspicious mind might have accepted this information, and concluded that the passengers had all given the Captain false names. But River's was not an unsuspicious mind. All of the Social Control records had been updated in the database on the same date, less than a week ago. Just after Serenity left 泥球 Ní Qiú. Who had accessed the Social Control records, and what kind of "update" had they made?

Simon and Ip Neumann were likewise busy with research. Simon was searching medical records, while Ip searched news archives, following a tip that his friend Brother Chan 'eil Càil had given him when he waved him with an update on the Captain's trial. The breakthrough came when Simon discovered that at least twenty-three of the names on the indentures were the names of people who had passed through the 泥球 Ní Qiú morgue. They were dead.

River took some steps to protect her identity before doing the next step of research. She selected her target and took the necessary steps to assume his identity, reflecting gleefully that he deserved whatever trouble came his way as a result of her investigations. She bypassed his security firewall, and, using his cortex address, accessed the protected databases of the 泥球 Ní Qiú medical examiner's office.

"I sincerely hope that no one is able to track this research back to Inara's cortex link," Simon remarked as the three worked through their respective data streams. "What you're doing is highly illegal, since we're not exactly law enforcement agents acting on a warrant."

"I'm using Wing's," River answered.

"Using wings?" Simon repeated. He was looking at her as if expecting to see wings sprouting from her shoulder blades.

River had no time for such nonsense. "Is there an echo in here?" she responded, brattily.

. . .

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.

.

glossary

泥球 Ní Qiú [name of a world]

请原谅我 Qǐng yuánliàng wǒ[Please excuse me]

该死的 gāisǐ de [goddamn]

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><p><em>Hope you're enjoying the story. Please review!<em>


	7. Chapter 7

The Trial, Part 4

_The hearing reaches its conclusion, and Mal pays the penalty._

_A/N: Final chapter, double length. There wasn't a good place to split this up, so you get the whole thing in one posting._

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><p>. . .<p>

On Tuesday morning, the arraignment hearing re-convened. It was not the perfunctory laundry list of charges that had occurred on the previous Friday, but was more like a wrestling match, with two contenders and multiple rounds. Each side had certain advantages and weaknesses, and they began each round eyeing and circling each other, looking for the right moment to shoot for a take-down. All of it was done in a collegial way, as if they were all members of the same club: they'd battle it out in the courtroom, then laugh about it over drinks afterwards.

"Melissa," Harrow began, after informally greeting both lawyers, and formally acknowledging Mal, "it's unusual to see you defending an accused slave trader. I'm wondering if you have anything to say."

"Only that my client, Captain Reynolds, is not a slave trader. He is opposed to slavery in all its forms. He finds it very painful to be accused of practicing what he abhors. He would like to read a statement."

Harrow indicated his assent, and Mal stood to read his prepared statement. "I was hired to transport a cargo of gravitational modifiers to 泥球 Ní Qiú. After delivering the cargo, I saw people shackled in leg irons. They were getting off the shuttles that take laborers to the terraforming site. Overseers herded them through the streets, and locked them in a pen. They were not allowed showers nor clean clothing, and their beds were nothin' but bare shelves stacked upon one another. Their food was the most basic prison mush, despite being on a world capable of producing garden fresh vegetables. The townspeople of 泥球 Ní Qiú openly acknowledged that these people were being kept as slaves, that they were made to labor at the most difficult and dangerous terraforming jobs. Later on, when I had a chance to talk with these forced laborers, I asked them three very specific questions. I asked them if they were being held against their will. I asked if they were being made to work without pay. And I asked them if they had been enslaved. The people who decided to fly with me all answered those three questions in the affirmative, and they came along with me of their own free will." Melissa Draper had stressed this point. It turned out that the questions he'd asked during the slave breakout were key. Because he'd asked—and they had volunteered—there was no question of coercion. And although there was only his word on it, it could be corroborated by the statements of the people themselves. He knew the lawyer had been trying to get access to the ex-slaves, with success or not he did not know. "At no time did I hold them against their will, and while they were aboard my vessel, I considered them my guests, and offered 'em the best I had, which truth to tell ain't much. When we landed at Eavesdown Docks, I was biddin' them farewell when the officers arrived to take us all into custody." He looked up from his prepared text and looked Harrow in the eye. "Slave trafficking is a felony, and it is my firm belief that those who put these people into bondage should be held accountable to the law, and it is also my adamant assertion that that ain't me."

Harrow gave no sign that he was sympathetic or otherwise. Prosecutor Ficker's sarcastic aside to his assistant was, "So he's not a slaver, he's a philanthropist."

Harrow talked right over Ficker's remarks. "What _did _you offer your 'guests,' Captain Reynolds?" Mal could hear the quotation marks around the word, dripping with skepticism.

"I offered them free passage, food and water. 'S the only thing I got to offer."

Ficker couldn't contain himself, and asked out loud, "Are you a philanthropist, then, Mr Reynolds?"

"A what?" Mal was unfamiliar with the term.

"A philanthropist," Harrow defined, "is a person concerned with advancing human welfare, who donates money, property, or work to needy persons."

"Usually a wealthy person," Ficker inserted.

That explained it, Mal thought. He just never met up with a person like that. No wonder he hadn't recognized the word. He didn't figure he was a philanthropist. More like to need one himself.

"Sir," Mal stated, "it's my observation that it's the poor folk who are more willing to share what little they got with those even less fortunate than what they are themselves."

Harrow eyed the notoriously tight-fisted Mr Ficker with opprobrium, and had the grace to look somewhat abashed himself.

Round one, thought Melissa Draper.

. . .

Prosecutor Ficker was in fine flow. He fully enjoyed reiterating the charges, elaborating with the kind of detail that made the scenario all the more convincing. "…and that Malcolm Reynolds did lure thirty-two indentured workers into breaking their contracts of indenture with New Worlds Terraforming Corporation, by promising them freedom from their contractual obligations. He lured them aboard his ship and transported them to Persephone, where he intended to sell them into slavery through black market channels. During transport he kept them on short rations and limited water, and forced them to sleep in abandoned cargo crates instead of proper bedding."

"Regarding the charges of aiding and abetting breach of indentures," Melissa Draper responded, "the charge presupposes that the persons aboard Captain Reynolds's vessel were, in fact, under contract of indenture."

"The indenture papers were forwarded from 泥球 Ní Qiú. The names and identities match the thirty-two persons aboard the vessel," Ficker replied. "The Immigration Authority checked retinal scans on all the detainees to verify that they were really who they claimed they were." He smirked a bit as he added, "They _all_ gave false names, in a blatant attempt to avoid the consequences of breaching their contracts. I have no doubt that Malcolm Reynolds coached them to give false information."

Dr Neumann's research team was worth its weight in platinum, Melissa Draper thought to herself. She suspected that the strange girl who had accompanied them to the jail entrance was part of the team, but she knew Neumann also had an off-world contact who must have been highly placed in government, because of the kind of information the team had retrieved. Careful to avoid expressing her glee, she outlined the facts to the court. "Our researcher has found evidence that the indenture papers were fabricated. The retinal scans on the indenture contracts match those of the persons aboard the vessel, but the names given on the contracts are incorrect. The names on the contracts are all of people who previously signed indenture contracts with New Worlds Corporation and are now are deceased. Our research team has been able to form a positive association for twenty-one of the names with different retinal scans—revealing the true owners of the names to be quite different people from the ones being detained. We have obtained death certificates for eighteen of the true owners of the names." She submitted a file to the court. "Their identities were stolen in order to fabricate false indenture papers for the detainees."

Ficker looked like he'd just sucked on a lemon and tried to swallow it whole. He turned and glared at his assistant, clearly giving an order for the assistant to come up with evidence to refute the claim that the indentures were falsified. The assistant was busy searching the prosecutor's files, but her look became more and more harried. Obviously, refuting evidence was not so easy to come by.

"In addition," Melissa Draper continued, "our research team has found evidence that several of these individuals were illegally abducted from their homes." Ip Neumann had uncovered a news story from Paquin about a series of disappearances several years before. The newswave mentioned four of the 泥球 Ní Qiú detainees by name, and included an interview with the local sheriff, who stated that local law enforcement suspected that the abductions were carried out by a criminal gang with interplanetary ties. Neumann had also given her a copy of the missing persons reports from Paquin, in which police had stated that they were looking for a Gadfly-06 spaceship which several witnesses had said they'd seen lifting off shortly after the people had gone missing. Draper gave a brief summary of the evidence and presented the file to Harrow as well.

Mal didn't know how his lawyer had come up with the hard evidence so quickly, but he was glad that the tell-all session with the surveillance glasses had borne fruit. He supposed he had River to thank for it.

Melissa Draper had more to say. Ip Neumann hadn't told her exactly how he had acquired such a report, but he must have contacted a Parliamentary insider—perhaps a staffer to a Member who sat on the investigating committee. "A recent Parliamentary investigation of police corruption in Silverhold Colonies revealed that a human trafficking ring was operating there with the connivance of local law enforcement. Although most of the evidence uncovered there had to do with the removal and trafficking of human organs—" Mal and most of the others in the courtroom were unable to suppress a shudder of revulsion upon hearing these words. Mal immediately thought of Tracey and wondered if Womack (a bad cop if he ever met one, and a right cold-blooded 王八蛋 wángbādàn had finally met with the justice he deserved.

"—it seems that some individuals were also captured and sold into forced labor or prostitution," Draper continued. "The investigation lists the names of two persons who are among the 泥球 Ní Qiú detainees." She presented another file to Harrow. "Our research team, and that of the Society to Abolish Human Trafficking, are currently investigating missing persons reports on several other worlds, and we are waiting for a reply from Whitefall law enforcement regarding an abduction that occurred there six years ago involving two of the detainees."

_Good luck gettin' that_, Mal thought. These days Patience controlled _more_ than half that damned moon, and like as not she'd refuse to cooperate with any investigation. She was a suspicious old 蝙蝠 biānfú, and wouldn't welcome anyone as came askin' about such things occurring on her turf. Local lawman owed her everything from his livelihood to his life, and would just sit on the request unless Patience told him to jump. If anyone told her the request for info had aught to do with him and gettin' his sorry ass outta jail, she'd never cooperate. She'd rather let him rot in jail. Just like, if he ever showed his face on Whitefall, she'd like as not shoot him. Again.

Harrow had put on his reading glasses and was deep into the stack of death certificates in the file Melissa Draper had submitted. He read and compared the data with the indentures submitted by Prosecutor Ficker. Meanwhile, Ficker and his assistant carried on a back-and-forth discussion under their breaths, and at last the assistant handed Ficker a piece of electronic paper, which he accepted with a disgruntled look. Harrow finished his examination of Draper's files, removed and folded his glasses, and spoke to Ficker. "If the indentures were falsified, this puts quite a hole in your contention that Captain Reynolds lured indentured servants into breaking their contracts with the terraforming company by promising them 'freedom'."

"And yet these contracts were supplied us by New Worlds Terraforming Corporation, 泥球 Ní Qiú branch," Ficker responded. He held up the paper his assistant had handed him. "I have a letter from the corporate lawyer that attests to the fact that these are the indenture contracts these people signed with New Worlds Corporation." Ficker handed the sheet to Harrow, but it was clear to Melissa Draper that his assertion was mostly bluster. Harrow read the corporate lawyer's letter.

"She does not 'attest to the fact,' Mr Ficker," Harrow stated. "She simply asserts that these are the indenture documents. This is merely a cover letter, not a sworn statement. Have you a sworn statement from the corporate lawyer or from other responsible parties within the corporation?"

"No, your Honor," Ficker allowed.

Harrow turned his attention back to Draper and indicated that she had the floor.

"Captain Reynolds has already explained his views on slavery in general to this court. In this case specifically, all who boarded his vessel did so voluntarily." Melissa Draper now revealed her next ace. "I have taken an affidavit from the thirty-two detainees now held at Immigration to that effect." She knew she had Inara to thank for the access. Her petition to interview the detainees, at first bogged down in the usual bureaucracy, had suddenly borne fruit when the Chief Inspector of Immigration himself had waved her to inform her that she would be granted one fifteen-minute meeting with all the detainees. She had gone to that meeting fully prepared, and came out of it with the sworn affidavit.

"Two weeks ago," Draper continued, "shortly before leaving 泥球 Ní Qiú, Captain Reynolds waved the Society to Abolish Human Trafficking on Persephone. His ship's communication log verifies this. He waved again en route. That is hardly the move of a slave trader. Mr Houghton of the SAHT confirms that Captain Reynolds waved him and has prepared a sworn statement as to the nature of the discussion, namely, that Captain Reynolds was concerned about the welfare of these persons after leaving his vessel, and asked specifically about what the SAHT would do to provide these persons with food, shelter, and opportunities to make a living. These are hardly the kind of inquiries a slave trader makes about cargo he is intending to sell."

Ficker was ready with his response. "Yet we have evidence that Malcolm Reynolds contacted a known underworld operator, Mark Fleecer—"

_Badger_, Mal thought, recognizing the name.

"—with a proposal to sell the slaves on the black market here on Persephone."

Mal leaned over and conferred with his lawyer in a whisper.

"Your Honor," she addressed Harrow, "Captain Reynolds has heard of Mr Fleecer. He is a crime boss who operates in the Eavesdown Docks area. He is known under the moniker of 'Badger' and Captain Reynolds has heard him spoken of as 'a psychotic lowlife.' Does the testimony of a 'psychotic lowlife' then carry as much weight as the sworn statement of Mr Houghton of the SAHT?"

Round two.

. . .

His principal charge against Reynolds was skewered, but Ficker was still trying to substantiate it with circumstantial evidence. "Other corroborating evidence is that Reynolds carried no cargo on his ship other than the slaves."

"Persons. Not slaves," Draper corrected.

"No cargo other than the persons he intended to sell into slavery," Ficker responded.

It was Mal who replied. "That is not so. My cargo manifest lists the cargo I was carrying."

"'Thirty-six cargo crates—empty'," Ficker quoted. "What kind of cargo is that? Who shuttles _empty _containers around the 'Verse?" he asked rhetorically.

The question may have been rhetorical, but Mal's answer was practical. "Fetch a good price at the salvage yard. Covers the cost of the journey. There's no other cargo to be had at 泥球 Ní Qiú, and I plan to get a good cargo here in Persephone. Are you tryin' to tell me how to be a ship's captain? That's my job." He reined in his anger at being told by a _lawyer_ how to run his ship, then added, "'Sides, I believe in recycling."

Ficker continued as if Mal had not spoken. "Since no reasonable cargo was listed, it stands to reason his real cargo was either the slaves or a smuggled cargo."

"Was there evidence of smuggled cargo aboard Captain Reynolds's ship?" Harrow inquired.

"_No_ cargo was evident aboard the ship," Ficker replied confidently. "But the shuttle belonging to his ship separated before the ship's arrival at Eavesdown Docks and landed separately. He easily could have arranged for the shuttle pilot to drop the smuggled goods."

Draper took up the thread. "That shuttle is rented by a Registered Companion, Inara Serra. She has been doing business here on Persephone since her arrival on the date you mentioned. I am certain that she can provide a record of her whereabouts since landing, if requested, but I don't believe that will be necessary. Her presence has been noted in the society column of the planetary newswaves in the last few days. She has appeared in company with Colonel Cyrus Momsen at the Advocates Society Dinner and with Judge Harrington at the Judicial Follies. She also dined with Chief Immigration Inspector Lee on Sunday at the Ritz."

"I saw her at the Follies," Harrow mused, referring to the long-standing tradition of the bench in which the normally staid members of the court let their hair down and sang opera for each other's amusement. "She played a lovely Mimi to Judge Harrington's Rodolfo."

Both the lawyers and Harrow were focused on their own interaction. None of them noticed the stricken look on Mal's face as he heard that Inara was seeing clients on Persephone.

"Surely you're not suggesting that a Registered Companion is acting as a smuggler's agent?" Harrow asked Ficker.

"Perhaps not," Ficker replied. "But given Malcolm Reynolds's record as a smuggler—"

Harrow interrupted. "Please explain your meaning."

"Reynolds has been bound by law five times, for smuggling, tariff evasion, and transportation of illegal cargo."

"I fail to see any relevance to this case," Harrow stated sharply.

"He has smuggled before and he would do it again," Ficker replied.

"Do I need to instruct you, Mr Prosecutor, of all people, in the difference between being bound by law, and a conviction? Captain Reynolds has been accused of smuggling. It is an occupational hazard for a captain of a transport vessel, just as being accused of medical malpractice is something that happens only to physicians. In the absence of any conviction, we presume innocence. Since you have not come up with any evidence of what was supposed to have been smuggled or how, I rule that the smuggling charges are hereby dropped."

Round three. Melissa Draper smiled.

. . .

He never would have thought it possible, the original list of charges was so long. But with so many of the charges shot down, Mr Ficker felt the need to reach into his back pocket and lay out a few that he had held in reserve. They were petty charges, true, but he had to lay something on Reynolds. He was sure the man deserved jail time. If only he had enough time to gather his resources and look thoroughly into the man's background, he was certain he could convict Reynolds of something that would keep him locked away for a good long while. He needed to fix him with a charge that Harrow would not throw out, something that would keep him locked up while Ficker investigated further into the man's past. So he made a motion to add a further charge "that Captain Reynolds operated an unlicensed interplanetary passenger shuttle, and furthermore the facilities he provided were not up to code for passenger services."

"Does the prosecution have records of the passengers' fares being paid?" Harrow asked.

"No, your Honor—"

"No fares were paid," Draper stated, "because these people were not passengers. Captain Reynolds fed and lodged them at his own expense. They were his guests."

"There is no law stating that ship captains may not entertain guests aboard their own vessels," Harrow agreed. "Guests take their chances as to what entertainment or facilities their host may provide. I've experienced that myself at house parties here on Persephone, at your Aunt Mildred's, for example, Mr Ficker," he added wryly.

Round four.

. . .

"…posession of an unregistered firearm." It was Ficker's last stand.

Harrow took over the questioning. "This weapon was removed from your person when you were bound by law, is that so, Captain Reynolds?"

"Yes, sir," Mal affirmed.

"Does this weapon belong to you?"

"Yes, sir."

"How and when did you acquire this weapon?"

"I purchased it at a gun shop, here on Persephone, about eight or ten weeks ago. To replace a firearm that was lost." The one that fell into Mr Universe's generator on Ferdinand Moon when he was struggling for his life with the Operative.

"Did you register this firearm?"

"Uh, no, sir," Mal replied. "It was an oversight. I was attending to many things at the time—refitting the ship and renewing ship's registration papers and my pilot's license. I musta lost sight of it."

"Your penalty for this infraction is to pay a fine in the amount of the registration fee, and to fill out registration paperwork for this firearm, which is to be duly filed in the appropriate office without delay. Late registration is not a criminal offense, and does not go on your record. You may reclaim this firearm at the entrance checkpoint to the court. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Mal replied, hardly able to believe his good fortune. His only penalty for this whole escapade was to register his damned gun?

"The remaining charges are dropped. This case is dismissed," Harrow pronounced, rapping his gavel on the bench.

Round five and match.

. . .

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_fin_

glossary

泥球 Ní Qiú [name of a world]

王八蛋 wángbādàn [son of a bitch]

蝙蝠 biānfú [bat]

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><p><em>Reviews and comments are very welcome. Thanks to all who have reviewed so far.<em>


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